STRGS 05

Chapter 5

Some Ghost Stories Are Real

‘It changed!!’

The water, which had been clear, turned into a deep crimson in an instant.

A sickening stench began to pierce my nose. The black bed surged upward as the water ghosts revealed themselves, clustering around that ‘person-shaped mass’ one after another.

Rotten, decayed bodies, missing eyeballs, half-fragmented faces.

Shifting between human shapes and black fragments, they cheered, screamed, reached out, grabbed, dragged the mass down under the water, tore open their ripped mouths, and…

They chewed.

They tore.

They devoured.

They sank together.

Dangling long tongues, raising arms, spinning round and round as if dancing, clinging, swimming—the water current shook, and weeping mixed with screams spread like laughter.

They bit the bait. Those things believed what fell in was a person!

It worked. I did it…!

There was no reason to watch any longer. I started running.

‘Please, please, please! Please open up. Path, open up for me…’

…!

The moment I scrambled over the rock, the path that had been submerged under the pool of blood opened up in a split second.

Through the gaps where hands scattered in every direction, I ran like crazy.

Slipping, scrambling over rocks, forcing through bushes, and kicking tree roots aside, I tumbled down the mountain path. Scratches and grazes covered my arms and legs, but I couldn’t stop, nor could I delay.

As fast as possible, further away. I had to go even one step further down.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

A terrifying wail slammed through the entire mountain. The receding blood surged back up rapidly from the valley, beginning to chase after me.

“Isn’t that noticing way too fast…?!”

Or was it? Did I hold out for a long time anyway? I’m the one who used a trick, but you guys were the ones fooled, so can’t you just let it slide?

A squelching sound began underneath my feet. Rotten hands pawed through the dirt, floundering to grab my ankles.

“Eating something bad for just one day won’t give you stomach trouble! Just let it slide as that, please!”

Running like mad, I kicked the hands away. With a squelching sound, several fingers snapped off. For every one I kicked away, three more surged up. Countless stinging scratches formed on my ankles. Hands surged endlessly, threatening to engulf me like a massive wave. And then—

The next moment—

“Whoa!!”

Losing balance, my body tumbled heavily forward. After rolling several times, my back slammed hard against a post. Curling my body before raising my head, I saw wooden stairs in front of me—outfitted with straw mats and guide signs here and there.

[Hold on! Do you really wish to proceed? This section is a highly dangerous area where safety accidents occur continuously every year!]

The warning sign, complete with a kindly attached, blurred photo of an accident scene, was the exact sign I had seen when entering.

And then,

Sounds began to be heard.

Vrrrrrr.

My smartphone vibrated. A barrage of messenger pop-ups poured in all at once alongside all kinds of ad notifications. Looking at my phone displaying the proper time, the tension completely melted away in an instant, and laughter burst out.

“Ha, haha. I survived! Ah! Hahaha.”

I survived.

It was over.

I used my brain to escape a real ghost story without anyone dying or killing!

Dopamine exploded on a level incomparable to any ‘fake ghost story verification’ I had done before.

‘If I post this on the blog, won’t it be a total hit?’

I wanted to go home. I wanted to wash up, lie down, and above all, quickly write a blog post. All those records of rolling around, running, diving into water, and coming back alone, along with…

‘A photo of a real ghost?!’

The water where hair fluttered like aquatic weeds and the crawling hands—evidence proving that the ghost story was real. I checked the action cam once more and held it tightly in my arms.

‘Let’s go home. Ah, should I stop by a pharmacy first…?’

Fortunately, the final run of the local bus, which ran three times a day, was rolling in right on cue. The village, quiet when I first arrived at the valley, was now fairly crowded with people. They seemed to be filming a broadcast.

Drapeing my remaining clothes to hide my injuries and pulling my hat down low, I quickly left the spot. I didn’t want to do an interview as an injured mountain hiker.

After Seon Jae-hyun descended, Seondang Village in Chuam-ri.

People dressed in matching pitch-black uniforms surrounded the hiking trail as they headed up. The person leading the group held up a strange lantern instead of a flashlight. Even though it was daytime, the lantern emitted a blue light, illuminating the surroundings.

-[Haetae withdrawal complete. Phenomenon erasure confirmed.]

-[Cheonrok entry complete. Data collection scheduled to proceed.]

A radio voice came through the lantern. A short-haired woman with a tired expression chewed on an unlit cigarette.

“Manager.”

A large-framed man approached the woman. Manager Mok In-ha nodded her head.

“Report.”

“It is as observed. To put it bluntly, the phenomenon for H-PL-4397 《Odaesan Blood Valley》 has been recorded and concluded.”

“Hyeon-woo.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that makes any sense?”

“It’s not entirely impossible, but statistically speaking, it’s close to impossible.”

“Right?”

Flipping through the report on her tablet PC, Mok In-ha puffed imaginary smoke. There are many ghost stories in this world. There is no guarantee that a person won’t get caught up in a ghost story while living their life.

Whether because their family holds religious beliefs, because they inherited a family business, because they live on a goblin site, because a next-door friend or a studio landlord hid a sorrowful tale, on the subway, or at work—for whatever reason, anyone is bound to have a chilling experience during their lifetime.

And the fate of the people swept up in ghost stories like that—the victims—was always the same. They died, went mad, or became part of the ghost story itself.

“We bust our asses to clear a single ghost story, yet a civilian enters a ghost story on their own and clears the phenomenon record. Are we bad at our jobs, or what?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Right?”

“Yes.”

“We need to find out who this is.”

Mok In-ha spat out the cigarette butt and crushed it with her heel.

Shortly after sending a radio transmission, a ladder dropped from a helicopter hovering overhead.

“Until I get back, locate the survivor who escaped from here and put all their info right on my desk!”

Mok In-ha habitually grabbed the ladder fluttering in the air and hooked her leg through. Accompanied by the loud sound of wind, the helicopter carrying Mok In-ha began to rise high into the sky.

“What will you do once you find them?”

To Ryu Hyeon-woo’s question shouted at the top of his lungs, Mok In-ha wore a twisted smile at the corner of her lips.

“Well, obviously, we grab them alive and make use of them.”

By the time I returned home, the sun had set and risen again.

‘Forget food or anything, I just want to lie down.’

My lovely room, have you been well? Though lacking warmth, my clean and tidy room. Throwing my body onto the bed, I savored the comfort pressing against my back.

‘…A real ghost story is a bit more disgusting than I thought.’

Closing my eyes tight, I shook off the 4D images of ghosts replaying in my head. My unnecessarily vivid imagination clearly reproduced the crawling fingers and water ghosts before my eyes. This was why I hated slasher films.

Let’s think of something else. Not ghosts. Something fun, something good. Something pretty…

“Ah, the blog.”

No sooner had I reached the first floor of the studio apartment building than a pop-up appeared stating there was a new guestbook post. Opening the blog, as expected, a single link stood alone.

Extremely suspicious.

However, if I don’t tap it, I’ll probably be attacked by ghosts again. I’ve got your pattern down. Upon tapping the link, after a brief loading screen, the display turned pitch black, and something was installed.

kHzPM

‘…It’s Morse code.’

What had been installed was an app shaped like an old-fashioned radio icon.

Upon tapping the app, soft old jazz flowed smoothly alongside a 1940s-style radio graphic. And then,

Beep—

A linear frequency oscillated on the screen, and a high-frequency noise that was hard to decipher continued for a few seconds. My ears felt muffled. The noise stopped… then began ringing again.

The radio app wouldn’t turn off, and neither would the phone. The noise repeated ringing and stopping.

‘It’s been playing at the same length and pitch like a siren since earlier…?’

Clutching my throbbing head, I pieced together my thoughts. I felt certain there was a way to figure something out using a noise signal like this.

‘Ah, maybe viewing it as a spectrogram?’

A spectrogram visualizes a specific sound signal; the image screens often shown during voiceprint analysis are an example. However, it’s also possible to convert specific images to generate sound.

Opening my laptop, I booted up the software. Aiming for the moment the sound restarted, I played the program, and letters appeared in sync with the noise.

I’ve been waiting for you.

“?!”

The noise shifted. The spectrogram began mapping out letters formed by frequencies.

Can you see what I’m saying now?

“Who are you? The chain letter?”

 Your fan, your observer, your exclusive broadcaster, and your fortune. If I may boast a bit, call me your radio host, 3AM-PM.

Conversing with noise wasn’t a realistic situation. Could it be a ghost or something? Yet at the same time, it wasn’t particularly malicious toward me. I decided to try conversing.

“Why did you appear to me? Is there something you want?”

 Of course. That’s why I prepared a gift for you as well. A radio needs listeners, and it’s only right to give a present to someone who submits a story.

This time, the noise stretched out long, drawing out something like a QR code.

Scanning it with my phone, it was a photo of the first-floor mailbox. Mailbox #703 had a bulging package inside. The mailbox had definitely been empty when I came up earlier though?

 Go ahead and take a look.

Hesitating for a moment, I went down to the first floor. A package was indeed stuck inside the mailbox. Bringing it back up with trembling hands and opening it, I let out an exclamation close to sheer shock.

“Are you insane?”

It was an antique book bound in worn leather with its title embroidered in thread, easily looking 200 years old. An item starting at a price tag far beyond what my salary could ever hope for, something I could only drool over from afar.

An Eastern European volume containing content focused on alchemical approaches to the afterlife. Surprisingly, attached to the package was a modern-language translation and annotation document covering 20 pages of the text.

My hands trembled violently. Fearing I might damage it with even the slightest wrong touch, I set it down hastily on the floor, stared at it for a long while, poked it again, and startled myself. My heart simply wouldn’t calm down.

Do you like the gift?

Do I like it? It wasn’t at a level that could be described with such words.

This single book was worth tens of millions of won. And beyond the monetary aspect, every single item contained inside was ultra-rare occult material, leaving my mouth bone-dry.

“I-Is this… for me?”

When a person gets desperate, honorifics slip out automatically.

I can give you more.

A single ghost story experience yielded a tremendous treasure. My mind quickly ran the math. If I do this a few more times, can I get the full translation too? Could I even obtain things far rarer?

Striking directly at that desire, a pleasant voice—gentle yet somehow playful—tempted me.

 I’m looking for ‘a certain story.’ I’m looking for the same thing as you. You experience it directly, and I give you gifts.

The noise formed the shape of the radio app. Looking around the app screen, there was a small gauge bar marked with tiny ticks like a thermometer, and something was filling up from the very bottom of the bar.

 Shall we call that a depth meter? Every time you collect a story, the depth will fill up. Then you’ll be able to obtain the gifts I’ve prepared.

Depth Meter Collection Status: 1 out of ■■■ completed

1. Blood Valley

Next Reward! New features, a new story, a new tool

Look at the very last achievement reward.

I tapped the ■■■th collection on the depth meter. In that instant, something composed of entirely broken characters and a combination of Korean, English, and unknown words slammed into my brain—not through comprehension, but through pure intuition.

My gaze went directly toward an empty space left in a corner of the bookshelf. My every beginning, my goal, and my strongest wish—saved for just one thing.

The one ghost story experience from my childhood, seen only once and never found again.

The experience, existence, world, and ghost story that stood as a singular, irreplaceable object of instinctive awe at the very end of my journey.

The one thing I couldn’t obtain even if I spent my entire life searching for ghost stories, even if I invested thousands in gold.

Closing my eyes for a brief moment in thought, I let out a long sigh. How could I possibly refuse this?

Then, shall we make a good deal?

No, a deal is dangerous. That won’t do. I quickly composed my soaring mind.

“……How about we be good friends instead? A ‘deal’ sounds way too businesslike.”

The radio stayed quiet as if displaying a brief silence speech bubble, then soon formed a linear frequency shape of a bright smile.

 Of course. Friends. That has a very nice ring to it. Then to my friend, I’ll request a few stories so you can find your way. I think you’ll like them too…

Soon, a new name popped up on the radio depth meter. It was a ghost story I knew.